Here's a new poem based on the fame-hungry culture.
Recommended serving: With this bad boy
They worship you on a crumbling pedestal
In free bar, filter-photo delirium.
All kisses on the cheek and hugs with a squeeze,
And wide-eyed adoring on bended knees.
But between platitudes and after parties,
Weekend benders and pouting selfies,
Who is it exactly that they adore?
Give it your all and they still need more.
And who is it in this whose got your back?
Where are the old friends you had back
In the day, that glorious blaze,
Albeit a golden, twisted haze.
The skint, dreaming times,
And 4am rhymes,
And never enough tomorrows.
Must success mean sweetened sorrow?
And what does success even mean,
I don't perceive it the way I glean
Is the way it's figured out.
A vacuum of illicit wonder,
And that hammer to fall you feel yourself under
When everyone wants their pound of meat,
From the champagne reception to the meet and greet.
Where a 'big announcement is coming up'
Burning eyes and strumming up
Interest with big talk,
You'll have to swagger, not walk.
Glistening forks pick the bones out of you,
What's in any of this that's true?
If I were you, I'd want to explore,
Shake it all off, slide out of the door.
And dare to look up at the crisp night sky,
Breathe in the world and let your soul sigh.
Dance velvet streets and awaken once more
To the things that still are true.
I reckon you'd find it's still you.